'Where is she?', Maurice looked unnerved. They had decided going to the residence after the younger man had gone chasing their hostage.
'I swear I've been looking for her everywhere. I've questioned several passer-by but no one has seen her…'.
His partner Jacques's expression became harder. 'Then we'll find her, with or without your help', he looked at Emma and Marie, who stood beside him. 'You've heard me, so you'd better begin showing what you are really capable of, ladies'.
Both women nodded and Édmond accompanied his male-collaborators outside. There were lots of things to think of.
They were strolling casually along the Parisian streets, the same streets that would lead them to the Opéra Populaire. Night had fallen an hour before and a beautiful crescent moon had risen up above in a starful and clear sky. A gentle breeze, like that which blew in the summer, was playfully moving the girl's hair as she listened attentively to the words of the smiling man who walked arm in arm beside her.
'Tell me, Erik', curiosity was invading her gradually. 'Why the Opéra? Why tonight?'.
He looked at her kindly. 'Music basically represents my whole universe…', they kept up the pace as he talked. 'And the palace of the opera I'll show you shortly has been meaningful in my life. I have many memories that link me to that place', he sighed. 'Too many memories…'.
She smiled. Erik was opening up his heart to her and that made her happy.
'They are not all bitter, aren't they?'.
He made a pause. No. Definitely, they were not all bitter. In fact, they were all quite satisfying and happy until…that night on the rooftop. The night he saw the person he trusted the most saying that kind of things to no other than Raoul de Chagny. The night he had to endure the scene of her kissing his rival. He tried to restrain the rage that was bubbling up inside him. He couldn't believe that he felt the betrayal as if it was happening right now, that he was relieving the moment when he crossed the thin line that separated good sense and insanity.
He managed to reply at last, stopping in his tracks and gently holding both her shoulders. 'No, dear, not every one of them…'. The pang of sadness that clouded his gaze did not go unnoticed for Angie. 'To tell you the truth, I believed I couldn't have been happier for a brief space of time', his lips curved into a bitter smile. 'But everyone gets the wrong impression of things sometimes, hm?'.
She couldn't have explained what she felt when she heard him say that. How frustrating it must be to believe you are happy and then, have that happiness taken away mercilessly, without the possibility or hope of having it back ever again! For God's sake, what had that man gone through?
She released his arm and practically pulled him into a tight hug. She suspected that particular memory which tormented him had something to do with that place he was going to show her. The realization that he surely was making a great personal effort to satisfy her curiosity only made her hug become fiercer. She wanted to feel him near and whisper silly words of reassurance into his ear. She wished he understood that she would do anything in her power to brighten his future. Damned her, her only desire was to love him entirely and sweep away all his sorrow.
The extent of her impulsive sympathy caught him off guard. Soon he found himself wrapping his own arms around her at the back entrance of the Opéra Populaire. Even if it passed an eternity of time since they first met each other, she would never cease to astonish him.
She drew back just enough to tilt her head and capture his mouth in a kiss, while her small hands rested on his shoulders. The fabric of his coat felt very soft. All of a sudden, without knowing why, she had the disturbing feeling that that would be the last time she would be conceded the pleasure of tasting his lips. Carried away by the fear that had possessed her, she deepened the kiss and clung desperately to his mouth, not wanting to part with it. He did not push her back but slightly covered her body with his cloak as he leant a hand over her slender waist.
Once they broke the kiss, she simply raised her quivering voice just above a whisper which was meant only for his acute hearing. The warmth of his arms and his cloak was still wrapped around her.
'You know you can count on me, Erik… don't you?'.
Of course he knew he could count on her. What he needed to determine was if she could rely on him as well.
He assented and motioned to the door with a tilt of his head. 'We're there', he encircled her shoulders with his arm. 'This entrance always seemed safer to me…'.
And she understood why. For obvious reasons he did not like been seen in public more than necessary and that door was really helpful in that sense.
As soon as they came in, she was impressed with the sight that lied ahead of them. A long dimly-lit passage. She took his hand. That place intimidated her a little bit and yet it made her feel the excitement of a fifteen-year-old who nips off with her boyfriend without her parents' approval and without a real plan. Those thoughts elicited a nervous titter out of her. Erik noticed that she had grasped his hand as if her safety depended on it. He turned to her, not understanding the reason for her change of disposition at first.
'What's the matter, Angie?', he slowed down the speed of his strides and looked at her in the darkness with a worried expression she couldn't have seen. He did not want her to get scared when she had not discovered the really frightening stuff about him and that place yet.
She smiled. 'No, everything is okay. It's just that…this place is…quite impressive'.
Now it was his turn to exhibit an amused gesture. 'I was impressed by its dimensions at first', he half-smiled. 'But, keep up with me. The best is yet to come'.
She felt exasperated but then, she really wanted to see everything he wanted to show her. He would show her his world, his passion and the greatest part of his life…
Meg was coming home. Her delay was due to the soirée she had shared with her old friends of the Opéra Populaire. Though the Opéra had been her home for years, she had not stayed anymore time there after the accident. Every now and then she would meet her fellow mates and they would tell her about the novelties around the great palace, the new alterations that would be finished in a few months and old acquaintances, many of whom had decided to abandon the place very much like the Girys. Christine had left them too. How much she missed her best friend everyday! Anguish oppressed her chest when thoughts of her invaded her mind. The last thing she had known about her was that letter. It had been heart-breaking. Poor Christine had needed her best friend and she had been unable to offer a helping hand. She felt so frustrated. What could she do?
She sighed. She was about to reach the hallway to the apartment block she resided in with her mother when strong arms grabbed her and covered her mouth to muffle her gasp of surprise and the screams that followed it.
'Don't move, little one, and everything will go just fine'.
A man's voice, threatening but gentle at the same time, was heard in the quiet alley.
When they got to the box he knew so well, Angie couldn't come out of her astonishment. Behind the curtains that prevented them from being noticed, the couple watched the great show of music and colour that was being performed on stage.
Erik observed with sincere curiosity her reactions and then eyed approvingly the façade of the auditorium, which had been thoroughly reformed, except for some little unimportant details here and there. That night when passion and desire had flown on stage ended in tragedy, a tragedy that affected even the building it had taken place in.
She couldn't stop listening to the music or get tired of paying attention to the performance. That was really an exquisite feast for the senses. It caressed her ears and soul in the rhythm of a melody composed for an endless list of unique instruments so that every one of them would join their sounds to create the most marvellous of symphonies. It touched her soul so deeply that she felt her gaze blurred with emotion. Now she could understand the love for music that harboured the man that was sitting beside her. It was art in its purest form. And he was, undoubtedly, an artist. It was only logical that he loved all of that.
The piece, unfortunately, finished sooner that she had preferred. Still speechless, she turned to him, who had been watching her closely since the curtains had closed down.
'Did you enjoy the performance?'. Even though he could have easily read the reply on her eyes, he wanted to hear it from her.
'It was…heavenly. I would have never had the opportunity of assisting to an event like this if it hadn't been for you', a wide smile formed in her lips. 'Thank you very much'.
He smiled back, pulling her to him. 'There are still many more surprises awaiting you tonight', he whispered. 'Come with me…'.
Her breathin became quicker when she listened to those words. This time it was him who took hold of her hand in the first place, as he guided her through the long passages. He knew of a shortcut to the place he had planned to take her but he did not want to pass through that mirror again or visit that room. Or feeling again the intoxicatingly sweet smell of fresh flowers he always breathed there. No. Never again. The time of roses, heavenly music, marvellous moments and Christine's presence had come and go…
She tried to scream but the hand that covered her mouth tightly wouldn't allow her. Moving her arms was useless too for the moment. She felt cold and scared. Though she was worried about her well-being as she was torced to follow the man's commands, she couldn't help but think of her mother, of her safety and how much she needed her in that moment. Tears began rolling down her cheeks…
Édmond felt the tension and fear that had awoken in the young woman. 'If you do what you are asked to do, you'll come out unharmed of this, so save your tears for that moment'.
She swallowed slowly. She did not dare to say anything in response. She only knew that it was better to obey her kidnapper's orders.
When they came out of the long dark passage, which had torches on both walls, the sight that lied before his eyes was beyond his imagination. Unfortunately, everything looked destroyed and many of his treasures had been robbed. Only a huge swan-like bed, still covered with fine sheets, and his precious organ remained. Around them, there was a vast lake.
She stared in admiration and with an expression of unspoilt happiness at the same time. 'Was it here, Erik? Was it here where you composed your music during the time you worked at the theatre?'.
Standing there was becoming increasingly unbearable. It was as if, suddenly, all his memories were back all at once. As if she was still next to him, captivated by his song, seduced, marvelled under the spell he had mastered the best: his voice.
'Yes…', he tried to sound calm but his upset was clearly written on his face. 'It was like a home to me for a long time…'.
He plucked up courage and took some steps forwards, Angie coming close behind him. The nearer they came to the lake and to the place where his ruined organ was placed, the clearer he saw that someone was lying on the other shore. His glare was fixed in the female silhouette that looked so still, lifeless even.
It couldn't be…
It simply was not possible…
It was…
Christine.
With a wave of his arm, he motioned to Angie not to follow him. His despair grew with every second. His heart shrank with every step forward. He had to make sure he was not hallucinating, he had to check that it was not her the person lying on the cold stone.
Soon he was next to her body. He paled when he examined it with the detachment of a physician. Her wrists were bruised, her hands showed fresh scratches and fingertip marks. However, her damned lovely face wore a peaceful and sweet expression…
Even in death…
He could not stand it anymore. He fell on his knees next to her prone body while a river of tears ran down both his cheeks. But what had happened to her? Why, why on earth, had she ended down there? His hands took hold of hers, which were calmly resting on her belly. She was so cold. He tried warming up her skin by rubbing it with gentle strokes, in vain.
'Christine…Why?'. Those were the only words he could work out in spite of the uncontrollable weeping. His tearful eyes caressed her figure adoringly. That's when he noticed something. Her clothes were wet. He delicately let go of her hands and registered the pockets of her drenched coat. There he found some incriminatingly heavy pebbles. What had she done? The new discovery only made his grief become overwhelming…
Angie was extremely alarmed and it did not take too much thought to disobey Erik's orders. She came to stand beside him.
She leant a hand on his shoulder, crouching down to his level. 'What happens, Erik? Who...?'.
Her questions were interrupted by she herself saw before her eyes. A young woman, possibly around her age or maybe a little older, was lying on the shore. Soaked, in fact. Her long curly hair was splayed over the lake's waters and water was still dripping from her long lashes. Even in her condition, she was truthfully a very beautiful woman.
Watching her closely she realized something else.
The girl that was lying before her was the same that appeared in Erik's portrait.